Brutus Dicit Non
by Lady Briett
Summary: Marcus Brutus loves Rome, but he loves Caesar too. Besides, Cassius never has good ideas anyway.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** OMD, I wrote something not about _Naruto_! _The Tragedy of Julius Caesar _needs more fanfic, I think, especially because most of its seem to be either really short, slash, or both. ('cause remember, just as Caesar subdued Bithynia, the king of Bithinia subdued Caesar…:) )

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><p>Marcus Junius Brutus sighed as he took off his outer toga. It had been a long day. Cassius, his incredibly irritating brother-in-law, was trying to get him to murder Gaius Julius Caesar.<p>

Which was totally necessary. He knew _that. _But that doesn't mean he wanted to! Okay, yes, yes, Caesar was _so_ going to destroy Rome with authoritarian measures. But he was 41! Far too old for this sort of thing. Although, come to think of it, Cassius was older. But _still._

Not to mention, that even though he was, like, OAA's with Caesar. (Optimum Amici Aevitas-much to Brutus' shame, he had started talking like a Valley Girl. Raetia exported nothing but silly slang these days, it seemed.)

The quiet footsteps of his wife interrupted him from his thoughts. He admired her curves as she walked towards him. Portia was so much better than his old wife. Maybe them being first cousins was kind of…odd, but come on, she was hot. And Claudia was totally not.

"Salveee, Marce," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders. "I made dinner." He looked off towards the triclinium. There did indeed seem to be a wonderful meal set out, but he did not feel like eating right now.

"Salve, Portia," he said, returning her greeting. "That's…very nice, but I'm not hungry right now." Brutus started off towards the orchard. He needed to think.

Unfortunately for him, his wife grabbed his tunic before he could get very far.

"_Marcus Junius Brutus! _Something happened today, didn't it? You know, Livia said she saw you talking to _Casca. _You just don't want to tell me because I'm a woman, am I right?"

Marcus was not quite sure what to say. Did she think she was his mother or something? Then again, he really didn't want to be sleeping on the settee tonight, so perhaps best to respond with…

"Cassius was attempting to…force his ludicrous ideals on me using over exaggerated eloquence…Portia, you _know _how he gets!"

Portia did, indeed, know how he got. "I see. Well, come into the triclinium when you're done thinking." She spun and walked to the aforementioned room, where Brutus could see a delicious looking meal on the tables. Some things, however, took precedence over food, and this matter was one of them.

He continued towards the orchard. Lucius greeted him with a meek "Salve, domine" but otherwise the only noise he could hear was his own footsteps.

Ahh, here was the garden! It was truly a work of art. Plants, both local and imported, flowered, as Rome's spring started earlier than in some other parts of Europa. He sat down on a stone bench, put his head in his hands, and began to think.

_Interficere aut non interficere? Interficere aut non interficere? Interficere aut non interficere? Esse aut non esse illa quaestio est_-wait, what? "To be or not to be", what kind of question is that?

It was, however, undeniable that something was rotten in the state of Rome. But: what?

_Caesar, _whispered a traitorous part of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Pompey for some reason.

And although he wanted to deny it, he knew it was true. Gaius had begun putting his face on coins, like a-like a-_king._

Caesar Rex. Caesar Rex. Imperious, (more than he already was), domineering, controller, ruler of all-

He shook his head rapidly. Brutus was getting quite dizzy and was rather glad he was sitting down. Thinking about this _hurt._

Still, though, he couldn't just up and kill his best friend! Plus, any idea put forth by _Cassius _was bound to not go well. Then again, wasn't it better for Caesar to be dead and for all Rome free, than Caesar alive and Rome a slave? But would he survive such an attempt on the man's life? Marc Antony was Caesar's right hand (literally, it seemed sometimes) and was powerful himself. (And also kind of a drunkard, or so the rumours said, but rumours also said Rome had suburbs-like you could build something _under _a city!)

And who said Caesar would be a _bad_ king? Romulus had been a king, after all!

_You're grasping at straws, _said the voice from earlier. Brutus ignored it-why the hell would he be holding animal feed? If he had to hear voices, it would be nice if they could at least make _sense._

All this thinking made him hungry. He decided it would be best to go back inside. Perhaps Portia would have an idea…should he tell her? Then again, if he didn't _now_, she would later (she _always _did) and then probably stab herself in the leg or something.

So slowly he walked back into the house and then into the triclinium. Portia was still reclining on a settee, eating bread. Ooh, bread…he had obviously gone without food for too long. Bloody Cassius!

He laid down on the one opposite her, smiling.

_Brute, Brute…_the food called. Hungrily he picked up some of the meat. Delicious, like everything Portia cooked. She was really quite wonderful at cooking.

"So, what did Cassius say that made you so contemplative?" she asked.

"Well, uh…," he began. How could he say this? It was kind of awkward. Scratch that, really awkward.

"Well _what_?" his wife asked, in _that _tone.

"Cassius wants me to kill Caesar with him," he said finally, sighing.

Portia nearly fell to the ground.

"OMD, Marce, are you _serious_?"

"Yes," he said, staring at anything-the ceiling, the table, the door-other than her.

"I…I really don't know what to say to that," she said at last. "I'm afraid I…find myself rather tired. I think I shall retire to our chambers." With that she swept up, carrying some of the empty dishes into the culina, before (presumably) heading to their cubiculum to go to sleep.

Brutus sighed. Now who should he talk to about this? Normally he disliked talking to people for a great deal of time, but seemed kind of important. Lucius was not smart enough to understand the ramifications Caesar's assassination could cause, Casca was a fool, his mom was a total Caesar fangirl, and the man himself was obviously out as well. Although he was certain he wanted no part in the planned murder of him, he still wasn't certain that it shouldn't happen. Although Cassius' reasoning for the act…differed…from his hypothetical one, the end result was the same, was it not? He supposed it might end with Cassius in charge of Rome, which would be a nightmare of unimaginable proportions for a multitude of reasons, but would he be worse than a king?

He sighed. Portia had a good idea. He'd sleep on it, and go and talk to Cassius in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, as sunlight streamed into the atrium, Brutus noticed a slip of parchment on the floor.

He picked it up. On it was messily scrawled…something. Well, if it was poisoned he'd already touched it, so it couldn't hurt to read it. It read:

**Dear markis **

**I love u u are cool & better than kyser **

**Kill him pls?**

Brutus was very confused at this. Aside from the spelling mistakes, it was written very messily, almost to the point of illegibility. Who did he know that wrote like this? Casca? Except Casca never called him Marcus. Hmm…

"Domine! Domine!" shouted Lucius, racing into the room. In his arms was a collection of parchments and papyruses. "I found these in various places around the house…"

"Thank you," said Brutus absently, taking them from Lucius. He picked one in a more _neat_ hand to read first. It read:

_Marcus Junius Brutus. A good fair man such as yourself should not fall victim to the subtle ministrations of the overly ambitious Caesar. Do not allow yourself to become enthralled, for you are the better. Gaius Julius Caesar needs to be disposed of, or else._

Wellll. That was certainly different than the first, although the actual message was fairly similar. He unfolded another, and had just gotten past reading BRUTUS YOU MUST DESTROY CAESAR FOR THE GOOD OF ROME, when he noticed something. All of these were written in different hands, and a few in different inks, but they all had one thing in common: lots and lots of ink splotches. That was a fact of writing in ink, of course, but these had far more than usual, as if…they were all written with the same leaky pen.

Nonetheless, he continued reading. The letters were all different, one even being written in Greek, but they all boiled down to the same basic point: you are a good man, Brutus, Caesar is a bad man, and you should kill him.

As much as he appreciated the veneration, it was suspicious. Who would know about Cassius's plans? He hadn't been that loud last night when mentioning it to Portia, had he? Perhaps Emmellia, that nosy woman who lived next door, but this was far more than one woman's work. Then it hit him: _Cassius _would know about Cassius's plans! He abruptly dropped all that he was holding on the floor.

And…and…come to think of it, hadn't Cassius mentioned his good pen breaking recently?

Yes, yes he had. That settled it! He was not going along with Cassius's plans now, sheerly on principle: lies like this were _so_ not honourable.

Well, then. Should he still go and talk to Cassius? Now that he knew the man was a dirty liar who would plant fake letters to make it seem like others supported his position? Granted, he already knew the man was a dirty liar, but this was worse than his usual tricks. He sat down on the floor to think about it. _Ire aut non ire…_he was using that sort of sentence structure a lot lately, wasn't he? Brutus remained on the floor for a while until Portia came into the room.

"_What_ are you doing?" she asked, sounding puzzled. Clearly she did not approve of his preferred thinking position.

Disregarding her question, he asked one of his own. "Should I stay, or should I go?"

"Um…go _where_?"

"To see Cassius. I…need to have a few words with him. Look at all this!" He held up a fistful of fake petitions.

"Speaking of such…" She then dumped a pile of parchment on him. "Found these around the house." She departed the room before he could say anything.

Brutus glowered angrily at the mess around him. What was he supposed to do with it all? Then he grinned evilly. He had an _idea._

Picking all the scrap and himself off the floor, he went to get his outer toga and sandals. As he was leaving the house, Portia raced up to him, clutching his _gladius._

"Here," she said, holding it out. "You know, just in case."

"I know Cassius can be hotheaded, but I don't think I really need a sword to talk to my best friend…" Yes, they were best friends. Somehow. He really had no idea why. Then again, wine makes anyone look good.

"When he doesn't take "no" for an answer, cold steel asks the question right," she responded, in a manner that sounded rather…recited. Brutus took the proffered sword and vowed silently to never, ever look at any of her books.

The streets of Rome were just as they always were: dirty and full of angry plebians. They were always rampaging through the streets and mobbing around unliked persons. That was the downfall of a Republic, but it was a necessary fact of living in the greatest city the world had ever seen.

The unwashed and barbaric crowded the streets of this less rich area, understandable really. There was that peddler, whose name Brutus did not know but whose reputation preceded him: he sold thrice burnt bread and anything that could be hurriedly sold in the middle of the street and was guaranteed to have fallen off the back of an oxcart. The Latin here was coarser, less correct.

"Hey, Mark," said someone cheerily, clapping a thick hand on his back.

"Hello, Antony," Brutus said, grimacing inwardly. Marky Mark Antony (the r's are silent mind you) was more irritating than Cassius and Caesar put together, and that was saying something. "If you'll excuse me, I have-ah-family business to take care of." It was technically true, considering his half-sister was married to Cassius and all. Why he was not quite clear, but-ah-_de gustibus non est disputandum_.

"Ah," said Antony. "I understand. Don't let them get to you!" He nodded and walked off. Brutus merely shook his head. Antony's family was…_unusual, _to say the least. Actually, wasn't he cousins with Caesar or something? Whatever. He had no time for musing over Antony's relations.

"Hey, Mark," said someone cheerily, clapping a bony hand on his back.

"Caius," said Brutus, sighing. He didn't foresee this ending well.


	3. Chapter 3

"Bro, I don't understand why you don't understand," said Caius Cassius Longinus, senator, scholar, and all-around _godsdamn_ _fucking moron_.

Marcus sighed. He was so done. "Cassius, all this parchment is obviously from one person. And I am quite certain that person is you."

"Yo, man, just trying to get you to see reason, eh, mate?" Where was his eloquence? His usual sense of tact? Grammar?

"So you admit it." At this, Marcus dumped the entire pile of papers on Cassius' head. "Also, are you drunk?"

Cassius blinked. His eyes were slightly red. "Uh, yes! No! Uh...maybe? Ah! It is way too early in the morning for this sort of interrogation!"

"If this is what you consider interrogation, than I shudder to think how you would hold up under, say..._Cicero_'s scrutiny," Marcus said, eyes glinting with malevolence. One could never forget the scathing Cicero had given dear old Lucius Sergius Catilina. (That was...omd, horrible. Cicero needed to learn when to sHUT THE FUCK UP. It was like, "Mr. Chickpea, we get it, Santa over there is a terrible person we should kill along with Manlyness or whatever his right hand man's name is and the rest of his shitty friends, but did you really need a whole hour to tell us that, num?)

"Uh...ooh, hey, look, some guy over there is selling some kind of food! Hey, man, I'll buy you food, okay? You like food, right?" Cassius drunk was actually kind of funny, once you ignored the fact that here was a respected statesman tilting about in the streets.

Marcus sighed. With Cai-cai there in this state of inebriation, there was no use in interrogation. Did he really trust that peddler? Hn. Oh, what was life without a little risk?

"I would enjoy some comestibles, yes," he said, using the most ridiculously formal structure he could think of at that moment just to mess with poor Cassius' head.

A grin that was a mixture between saucy and sauced was flashed at him, and—a few awkward fumbles with denarii later—they both were holding the flesh of some unrecognizable animal. It actually wasn't that bad. He was surprised.

It was sort of embarrassing to be standing in the middle of the street with a man who had clearly had a few too many, so in a hushed voice he said, "You know, perhaps we ought to...talk about things somewhere a little more private."

"O, Brutus, that is a wondrous idea!" said Cassius, swaying. "We can chill in my place." And they began to walk down the crowded streets, surrounded by their inferiors...well, Marcus' inferiors, really. Whether they were truly lesser than Cassius was a debatable manner.

And then they were in front of Cassius's house. "Oi, ancilla," he called. A slight girl came to open the door, attempting a smile as she showed them in. "Do NOT let him have any more wine," Marcus hissed at her. She sighed, like he wasn't the first person to ask that of her.

The atrium was brightly lit. There was a bench off at the side of the room, and Cassius pulled him over to it.

"So..."

"Yes?" He hoped his friend sobered up soon. For both their sakes.

"You in or not?" What? Oh. In or not to kill Caesar.

"Not." It...no. It was a bad idea.

Cassius looked horror struck. "You're a daft fool, you know that? Caesar...he...well, you, know, like, the thing of the public? Like...this thing, we've got going, right? Don't you like that? Don't you? Caesar wants to be king. Like Numa Numa Whatever or like, like, you know? He's going to. And then everything you know, everything you believe in is gonna cease to exist."

Marcus swallowed hard. Cassius had a point. _Too much of a point._ That...he...was he a traitor for not agreeing with Caius yon, a traitor to all his ancestors had fought and died for? He knew what they'd say, in some hideous mocking tone: "_It was not that he loved the Republic less but that he loved Caesar more__._"

"Perhaps I believe that violence is not the answer."

Cassius shakes his head. "Look...maybe if it were any other man you'd be right. But it ain't no other man. It's gaIUS IULIUS CAESAR. The most powerfullest man in the whole Republic. Like, remember that time, when he got kidnapped by those pirates and he was like "yo as soon as i get out of here imma cut you" and he DID? remember that time he took over like fifty trillion Gaulic tribes? He's not a man to be reasoned with. Violence is the answer."

"Stop thinking with your sword and not your brain," replied Marcus, faintly angry. Oh. That...could be misinterpreted, couldn't it? _Please don't let him misinterpret that_, he prayed to whomever would listen. _Please don't let him bring up that his nickname used to be "Longsword"_.

"O, I know you like it," said Cassius, winking, and cLIMBING INTO HIS LAP FUCK FUCK FUCK NO

"Ooh, Marky, don't you like the idea of red, red, beautiful Caesarian blood all over the marble of the Senate floor? I can see it now, stunning, beautiful, a study in ex...qu...sit..e...nesssss," he said, his voice becoming more slurred at the end, the last gasp of his sudden breath of lucidity. His thin hands were grabbing him, hopefully just to prevent himself from falling onto the floor.

Wait. If Caesar was "the most powerfullest man in the whole Republic", why did Cassius think they could kill him?

"Why do you think _we_ can kill Caesar?" he said, removing his stupid drunken friend's hands from his face.

"Uh..." Cassius looked contemplative, perhaps thinking of Epicurus but more likely thinking in alcohol-fueled fragments that the Greeks certainly would have understood but not perhaps admitted quite so freely.

"Well, bro, y'see, I wasn't thinking it was going to be just _us_ doing the killing...I got a whole bunch of other guys to agree or at least sorta agree to help, see? He'll be overwhelmed."

Oh dear. That was bad. How many more people had Cassius gotten involved in this mess? This could be a catastrophe of unparalleled proportions. Even more so than it had been before. What could he say in response?

"Caius. He has bodyguards. Big, thick, tall bodyguards who will destroy you and your skinny little self instantly, and all of your supporters seconds later! Is this some sort of deranged suicide plot? I am not getting involved in that." That should shut him up for a bit, right?


End file.
